


how much more do i have to be?

by towokuwusatsuwu



Category: Kamen Rider Ghost
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gender Dysphoria, Introspection, Multi, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 14:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11784942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towokuwusatsuwu/pseuds/towokuwusatsuwu
Summary: Makoto Fukami fights his own demons, both inside and out, to save others the pain of fighting them for him.





	how much more do i have to be?

Makoto doesn’t know when his father walks away. He doesn’t know yet. He’s young, and though his mind is a confusing place full of questions and discrepancies with who he is and what that means, he doesn’t know yet. No one would fault a child for not understanding them.

The inside of his chest feels like a hollow cavern without his father in his life. When Ryu takes them in, he never treats them as less than for not being his children, for not being Takeru, and Makoto supposes he heals a little at the edges from this. Any child who needs a loving parent in their life is bound to do better when they finally have a parent who cares about them.

Kanon is happier, which is what Makoto cares about the most. Even at a young age, he puts her ahead of him and his own feelings and does not stop to think twice about it. Seeing her smile, seeing her play with Takeru and Akari, makes him happier, too.

He never quite forgets, though. Even someone in the process of healing is unlikely to forget the pain scraped raw through their chest, their heart punctured and left to bleed. He watched Daigo Fukami walk away and could only promise himself he would never do the same thing to Kanon.

Takeru asks him once if he misses his father, in the middle of playing, taking a break to let their exhausted bodies catch their breath. “No,” Makoto says, pulling his knees up to his chest, making himself smaller, trying to hold the ache inside. “No, I don’t.”

* * *

“I’m a boy.” Makoto is still young, but older, and he knows better now. Still not as well as he will when he’s old enough to have words to put to the way he feels, the way his skin feels like it doesn’t fit quite right, like his body doesn’t match what it should be, what he should be. But he can say this much without hesitation now, and he can believe it. “I’m a boy,” he repeats, and he doesn’t turn his eyes away from Ryu’s when he says this. He holds steady, though inside he shakes.

Ryu sets his utensils down and turns around in his chair to face the child standing across from him, and Makoto tries to read his expression, tries to read what he thinks about this, how he feels, in his eyes. It’s hard, because though Ryu is strict yet kind, he can hide his feelings better than anyone Makoto has ever met in his young life. “So you are,” he finally says, and Makoto wants to crumple, wants to cry at his easy acceptance. “We’ll need a new name for you, won’t we?”

Makoto’s lips quiver and his eyes burn from the quick rush of tears at the fact that at least the man who took him in is willing to accept him for who he is without question. “Makoto,” he manages to get out around a choked sob. He picked the name out himself from one of the many books in the temple, desperately thumbing through them in an effort to find something that might fit him better, fit him wholly and completely. “My name is Makoto now.”

“Makoto,” Ryu echoes, and when Makoto finally breaks down, Ryu pulls him into his arms and holds him so tight that Makoto finally feels the pain inside of him ease a little.

* * *

Takeru adapts far easier than Makoto would have expected; his easy exuberance at having another boy to play with seems to matter to him the most. _Nee-chan_ becomes _nii-chan_ without a second thought and Makoto really didn’t expect how much that tiny change would affect him, would make him that much more fond of Takeru and his soft edges and warm, full love.

“Now Kanon has Akari and I have you,” Takeru tells him one afternoon when Makoto asks him about it, his curiosity winning out over his fear of rejection. When he speaks, Takeru radiates warmth and joy and Makoto basks in it more than he wants to admit even then. “And you’re the coolest boy I’ve ever been friends with. You can fight almost as well as Dad can!”

The praise makes Makoto shy and bashful and he hides his face in his knees even as his cheeks heat up, curling into himself, because Takeru always says these things without thinking and Makoto can’t cope with it. “Thanks, Takeru,” he says, muffled but audible.

He isn’t looking up so he doesn’t feel the tackle coming, just knows the two of them are suddenly sprawled out in the gross, Takeru doing his best to mimic an octopus as he wraps himself around Makoto and squeezes tight. “You’re the best! And I love you.”

Instead of getting up, Takeru drops his head down on Makoto’s shoulder and Makoto lets him, the familiar warmth and weight of Takeru laying on top of him helping to ground him. The grass is soft beneath them and the sun burns overhead, bright and golden and full.

“I love you, too,” he says, and Takeru beams up at him.

* * *

Makoto kisses him just once before he and Kanon are sucked through the monolith and into the Ganma world. It’s a chaste thing, a quick press of lips to try to put some perspective on his confusing feelings, the way he always feels light and warm when Takeru is around, the way his hand seems to catch on fire every time Takeru grabs it to take him somewhere. So one night, when they’re sitting outside looking at the stars, Makoto chances pecking him on the lips.

Takeru blinks at him a few times after and Makoto curls away, shy, but Takeru doesn’t let him and instead leans against him, grabbing Makoto’s hand with both of his. It’s not unfamiliar or strange but Makoto squirms just the same. “I like you, too,” he says.

Makoto groans and tries to hide his face, but Takeru half-tackles him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “It’s okay, then?” he decides to ask. “You don’t think I’m weird or anything?”

“No.” Takeru sing-songs the word and Makoto relaxes, that deep fear inside of him slowly subsiding the longer Takeru holds him. “Am I allowed to give you a kiss back?”

As if on cue, Makoto’s face flames. “Yeah, I guess that’d be okay with me.”

“Okay.” Takeru waits for Makoto to look at him, then pecks him on the lips with a satisfied smile.

When he and Kanon disappear inside of the monolith and they find themselves in the blood-tinted world of the Ganma, Makoto swears he can still feel that kiss against his lips. It’s only when his body is left behind and he finds his soul residing within an eyecon that he loses that sensation, and he tells himself it will be for the better as time goes on.

* * *

“I want to train under you.” It takes Makoto years to gain the courage to say these words, standing in front of Prince Adel, quivering inside, afraid of this man and his carefully poised expressions, afraid of the power he carries around him like a mantle befitting true royalty. “You train the soldiers. I’ve seen you do it. I want you to teach me how to fight like that.”

Adel hums, his head falling to the side. “Are you sure you can handle that?”

Makoto bristles, crossing his arms over his chest— his chest, he hates his chest, too much time has passed and now his body is changing in shape and he _hates_ it. “I can handle it,” he says, because he can. Because even if he can’t, he’ll fight anyway. “I’ll do whatever I have to do.”

“I’ve never trained a human before, so this will be an interesting experience for both of us, I presume.” Adel takes a breath and loosens his shoulders, and Makoto wonders if he carries himself around tense and stressed all the time. If he can truly live a life like this. “If you want to learn how to be a soldier, Makoto Fukami, I can teach you how to fight. But only if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” He releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, then bows, the motion still a little stiff for him. “Thank you for agreeing to train me.”

Adel waits for him to straighten before leaning in, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I won’t go soft on you because you aren’t a Ganma, but I feel like you wouldn’t respect me anymore if I did.”

For the first time since entering this hell landscape, Makoto manages a true smile.

* * *

Alain is warmer and friendlier than he has any right to be considering their first introduction was cold and their second was violent and painful, the two of them battling until neither of them could move anymore. But Makoto refuses to be taken less than seriously, whether in this world or back on earth, and he won’t let anyone think less of him for any reason. Not ever again.

“You make very strange faces at your body every time you happen to look at it,” Alain tells him once, and Makoto stiffens so hard that Alain leans away from him, clearly aware he must have said something wrong. “I am sorry. It was not my right to mention such a thing to you.”

“No, it’s fine. I just.” Makoto takes a slow, deep breath and releases it. “Back home, I’m… I would be considered a freak for… Not fitting into what people want and expect me to be.”

Alain scoffs and leans back in, and Makoto relaxes into the familiar warmth of his touch as Alain wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Foolish,” he murmurs. “You’re above expectation.”

Makoto doesn’t mind so much when Alain sees him, when Alain touches him, when Alain kisses him so long that he thinks he might go dizzy from the loss of oxygen. Maybe it’s because he’s a Ganma and their ideas of how things like gender and biology work are so wildly different from what humans believe. Makoto doesn’t know. But Alain doesn’t blink when Makoto tells him he’s a boy even if his body doesn’t match, and Makoto can breathe free and easy.

* * *

When Kanon dies, Makoto wishes he could die with her. He clings to her hand and sobs and everything inside of him feels raw and scraped out and bleeding, painful in a way nothing has been in so long. His little sister who he loved with all of his heart, the one person he would have given up his life for. He would give it up for her now if it meant she could come back, whole and happy and alive and well, but he can’t, and she’s already gone.

He’s grateful, at the very least, that Adel and Alain had taught him how to retrieve her soul before it was too late. The two of them had been on him day and night since Kanon became sick, intent on making sure that he would know what to do when the time came.

“You’re not going to tell him,” Adel says when Makoto comes to see him, to retrieve the Specter Eyecon for himself once and for all. “You’re going to leave and you’re not going to tell Alain why.”

“I need to do this. For myself and for her. She… She deserves to _live._ ” Makoto has to choke the word out and quickly pushes his emotions back down because now is not the time. “I need Specter for that. Adel, please. If I can’t save her, I’ll never know any kind of peace here.”

“Do what you will.” Adel presses the Eyecon into the palm of his hand. “Use what I taught you.”

“I will. If he asks, I took this from you and didn’t tell you where I was going.” Makoto pockets Specter, in the opposite pocket from where Kanon’s Eyecon sits. “I don’t want him to know.”

“It isn’t my place to tell him anything, so you can rest assured I will keep this between the two of us.” Adel folds his arms neatly behind his back. “Good luck, Specter. I hope you succeed.”

Makoto leaves the Ganma world that night. If he can’t save Kanon, then he has no reason to come back.

* * *

The fact Takeru does not remember him should hurt less than it does because Makoto has not seen him in  years and knew ahead of time that Takeru was looking for the same Eyecons he was. Makoto knew this when he chose this mission, and he knows that to succeed he might have to ensure a world in which Takeru dies not because of anything other than bad circumstances.

If he could choose, he would rather have a world where the two of them are alive and well and happy, and he could be a part of their lives again, and he could tell Takeru that he never truly stopped caring about him, that Takeru’s easy acceptance of him paved the way for his ability to start reclaiming himself and his life… But he knows he can’t have that. He can’t have that, because Kanon needs to live, and in order for this to happen, that means Takeru has to die.

“Onii-chan?” Kanon’s voice breaks him out of his reverie and he reaches down to pick her out of his pocket, holding her in the palm of his hand. “You don’t have to do this. I—”

“I do.” They’ve had this conversation before. “I do, and I’m not going to stop until I succeed.”

If things were different, if Makoto had come back here on better terms, he would have reached out to Takeru to help him instead of actively working against him, but he has no other choice. He has to do everything he can to save Kanon, even if that means Takeru dying in the process.

No one ever said his life was going to be an easy journey, after all. He never imagined it could become this complex or difficult, but at least he knew it was going to be hard.

* * *

 “You don’t get to do that to me again.” Makoto is angrier than he has any right to be, fisting his hands in the soft material of Takeru’s jacket, pulling the shorter boy up against him, rage radiating off of every centimeter of his body. “You almost _died_ for good and you don’t get to do that again. If you died after what you did to save her…”

The fact Ryu Tenkuji is the one who reached out beyond the grave to save Takeru once and for all is not a surprise. How could it be? Ryu loved Takeru with everything in him and Makoto has vivid memories of this. But that doesn’t change the fact Takeru almost died on him.

“It’s okay.” Takeru is too chipper for someone who almost permanently faded from this world for the second time. His hands are too gentle as they rest on top of Makoto’s. “I’m still here.”

“It’s not fucking okay, Takeru!” Makoto is shaking, and then anger blurs into something else.

He kisses him. It’s been years since the first time, since their mutual kisses as children, and Makoto had thought he could quash anything he felt for Takeru. Takeru, who was so happy to have him back, who almost died to save Kanon, who never left Makoto’s side.

Takeru makes a sound against his lips and Makoto tries to pull away, to tell him that he’s sorry, that he overstepped, but then Takeru’s hands are on his face, and his lips move against Makoto’s, and Makoto doesn’t stop to think about it. He just makes a thankful noise and pulls Takeru so close that he swears he can’t tell where his body ends and where Takeru’s begins.

* * *

Dying for Alain isn’t so bad, Makoto thinks. Alain is one of the two people that Makoto has been more than happy to hand his heart to, who earned his trust and loved him despite his flaws.

So stepping between him and Javert is hardly as difficult as it should be.

There are a million things he wants to say to Alain. In the back of his mind, he knows that his Eyecon shattering will not mean permanent death, that his body still exists, that he has another chance and this is hardly goodbye, but Alain is bloody and fragile and looks ready to crack around the edges, and Makoto wishes he could say something, anything, to help him.

He thinks, desperately, that he hopes Takeru will save Alain from himself, and from the toxic ideology of the Ganma, and give him another chance at a happy life, one he deserves.

There would be no better life than that, he thinks. To have the both of them well and happy and safe, to have the both of them side by side in this fight instead of pitted against each other. He wishes he had the time to explain to Alain that Takeru will be there for him, if he lets him be.

Death, he thinks, should be more painful than it is. His body dissolves, and he thinks that should hurt, and his Eyecon shatters, and that should probably, definitely hurt. But it hurts far less than his last faint memory of Alain reaching for him before everything is dark and quiet and peaceful. If permanent death was as easy as this has been, Makoto might not mind going in the end.

But he has a mission still to complete, so he can’t leave just yet.

* * *

The drawback about being in his human body again is that Makoto is startling aware of every inch of his skin. Of the way his body curves that is wrong, of the softness here and there, of the shape of everything, and it makes him embarrassed on good days and upset on bad days. He hadn’t noticed nearly as much as an Eyecon, so disconnected from everything.

Akari is the one who appears in his room at the temple, a box clutched in her hands, her expression uncertain, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “I don’t know if they’ll fit perfect,” he says before holding the box out to him, more nervous than he has ever seen her before. “But I used the measurements like it said to. You can try them on and let me know.”

Makoto opens the box uncertainly, staring down at the dark fabric inside, his breath caught in his throat. “These are…” He chokes around a sob and smashes his hand over his mouth, his vision blurring making Akari double in front of him. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“I wanted to.” Akari hops from one foot to the other, her smile uncertain and tentative but hopeful nevertheless. “Like I said, you can try them on to make sure they fit correctly.”

Incidentally, they fit perfectly, and as Makoto pulls his shirt down over the black binder stark against his pale skin, he feels a wave of relief wash over him that makes him grip the sink counter, sobbing openly and brokenly, feeling both _right_ and _relieved_ all at once.

He hugs Akari so hard it hurts both of them, but she laughs and bumps their foreheads together.

* * *

“It’s okay,” Takeru tells him, wrapping his arms around Makoto’s waist, humming against his neck.

Makoto wants to argue. He isn’t used to being the one in the middle. He prefers to put himself between Takeru and the doorway to make sure that no one can get near him, especially with the Ganma coming after him so frequently. He doesn’t like being in the middle.

“Makoto.” Alain’s voice is soft and sleepy and he burrows in against Makoto, making an irritated noise against Makoto’s throat. “You are arguing too much and I just want to sleep.”

“You’ve been trying to protect us both this entire time and don’t get me wrong when I saw it’s admirable and brave and I’ve never met anyone as strong as you are.” Takeru kisses the back of his neck and Makoto shivers, his skin going goose bumps all over. “But I want you to know that you don’t always have to, and that it’s okay for you to rest while I protect you.”

“I don’t need to be protected.” Makoto complains because he has to, because he’s _supposed_ to be the one protecting them. That’s just how it is. “You, on the other hand—”

Takeru laughs and Makoto bites down on his complaint because the sound is so soft and sweet in the darkness. “I’m okay, really. Just let me have this, okay? I really want this.”

When he asks like that, Makoto can’t argue anymore. So he wraps himself around Alain and contents himself with being able to at least protect one of them tonight.

* * *

Seeing his doubles is an experience Makoto could not explain to anyone else even if he had to. In a way, it’s oddly soothing. Seeing the sharp lines of his own face, the cut of his hair, the broadness of his shoulders… He’s seeing himself in a way that he never has before, and he thinks, in the back of his mind, that none of his clones, none of these versions of himself, look anything less than masculine. Is this what he really looks like to other people?

That doesn’t stop him from fighting them, of course. No copy of himself, no wraith, no half-life could ever infringe on what he has worked so hard to build with the people he loves so much, the friends he’s honored to fight beside, the boys whose warmth and gentleness and love has softened him in a way that doesn’t make him uncomfortable or upset. He worked hard to build this life and he will work just as hard to protect it from any intruders.

That has meant fighting Adel, the man he once admired, the man who gave him something to center himself with, who never looked at him as less than despite who he is. That has meant staking everything he cares about on a power that he knows could always destroy him.

Every time one of his doppelgangers shows up, his fingers curl around the Deep Specter Eyecon, the one he infused with his own power and will, and he prepares himself.

And if he doesn’t tell Takeru or Alain about it, so be it. They don’t need to know. This is between himself and whatever these clones are, and he won’t let his own personal issues destroy everything he holds sacred and dear. There are some things he can take care of himself.

* * *

Makoto loves his leather more than he loves most things, but today he swaps out leather for a simple tank top over one of his binder and loose, worn jeans. They have a rare moment of peace and quiet that is nevertheless fraught with uncertainty and tension, because when are the Ganma going to strike next? But he takes these moments and clings as tightly to them as he can because he knows they’re all they have right now. When he walks out into the courtyard, Takeru pauses in his training to look at him. Really look, which makes Makoto frown.

“What is it?” he asks, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Takeru smiles at him, shrugs a shoulder. “I dunno,” he says. “You just always look so handsome.”

“Handsome.” Makoto echoes the word, likes the shape and weight of it on his tongue as Takeru comes to stand in front of him. “You’re not so bad on the eyes yourself, you know.”

“But you always look so good no matter what.” Takeru sounds wistful as he wraps his arms around Makoto’s waist, and Makoto answers by letting his arms rest easy on Takeru’s shoulders. “You’re so handsome, and Alain is so pretty. I feel so plain in comparison.”

“No.” Makoto speaks without thinking, but fervently and honestly just the same. “Takeru, you’re an incredible person. The beauty of your soul and your beliefs shines through in everything you do.”

This time, Takeru is the one who blushes and lowers his head. “You don’t have to say all that.”

“I want to. Because it’s true. And because I love you.” Makoto pecks him on the forehead.

Takeru kisses him, searing and hot and it arrows into his gut and Makoto pulls him closer, clings to him, and wishes he could tell him just how much he really does mean to him.

* * *

Dying once should have prepared him for dying a second time, he thinks. And if he dies protecting his friends, then so be it. Makoto has never wanted anything less than that.

It hurts this time. Everything aches all the way through and there are so many things he wish he could say to everyone. To Kanon, for never seeing him as less than her big brother. To Akari, for helping him in a way he didn’t know he needed. To Takeru and Alain, for loving him despite his sharp edges, despite the cold way he could conduct himself when he had to.

He wishes he could even tell Adel goodbye, that he understands, even if he doesn’t like this ending for them. He wishes he could have saved all of his friends, not just some of them.

When the doppelganger kneels in front of him and sets his hand against Makoto’s chest, when their souls fuse together, Makoto feels what he felt, sees what he saw, during the short span of his life. He can feel it through him, too, the love of his family, of his friends, of his boyfriends, all of that bright and blooming and alive in a way that Makoto himself has never been able to appreciate just as much as he should. When his bruised and bloodied and dying body is revived whole and healthy, there are tears in his eyes. No one asks him to explain them.

When everything is over, he’ll hug everyone a little tighter and tell them all he loves them a little more often to make up for the life that was lost to give him yet another chance at life.

* * *

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” Makoto has said this at least a hundred times in the last three days but he says it again, holding Takeru’s hand tight in his. “I was so afraid we were going to lose you.”

 _We_ , he says, but he also means _me._ _I was afraid I was going to lose you._ It feels like he’s lost Takeru a thousand times and almost lost him a thousand more in the last six or so months, and he never wants to know that feeling again. He never wants to lose what is precious to him again.

Takeru laughs and kisses him, and Makoto can feel the shape of Takeru’s smile against his lips. “I’m okay now,” he whispers, framing Makoto’s face in his hands. “And I love you so much.”

When Takeru touches him, there is never any hesitation or uncertainty in his hands, no fear, no concern he might be doing something wrong, something bad. Makoto kisses him until his mouth hurts, until his eyes water, until everything inside of him that used to ache and bleed feels warm and full and overflowing with love for the one person who never stopped believing that everything could be okay again if they just kept surging forward and never backed down. He doesn’t think there are enough words in any language to tell Takeru how amazing he is, how strong he is, for being able to push forward without backing down, without being afraid.

“I love you,” Makoto whispers, and he means it every single time, and he means it a little bit more each time, and he wishes he only knew how to tell Takeru just how much he means to him.

* * *

“Does it hurt anymore?” Alain’s fingers trace the surgery scars on his chest and Makoto closes his eyes, exhaling slowly. Of all the questions to ask, he didn’t think this one was the one he would be hearing. “I don’t want to risk hurting you if you’re still sore, Makoto. I mean that.”

“I’m okay.” He wraps his hand around Alain’s wrist, gives it a comforting squeeze and nods when he feels rather than sees the question Alain doesn’t want to ask him. “I’d really prefer it if you didn’t stop touching me. Not when you finally can without upsetting me.”

“I’m so glad we can.” Takeru’s hand smoothes over his chest— his _flat_ chest, finally, at least one thing fixed on the list of many things to fix. “I want you to know how much we love you.”

“Hush,” Makoto says, but his voice is low and husky and he’s never felt as good as he does right now, with both of them looking at him, both of them touching them, both of them acting so reverent, no longer having to cower away from their eyes or touches. “This is so nice, though.”

“It is,” Alain agrees, and Makoto feathers his eyelashes open, watching the way Alain’s gaze softens as his fingers trace over Makoto’s skin. “To see you so happy in your own skin…”

Makoto swallows past the lump in his throat and pulls Alain down, their lips meeting like they have a thousand times before, like they were designed to fit together. Takeru is there as soon as Alain is gone, hooking his leg around one of Makoto’s, tongue slipping into his mouth.

It’s a small thing, but so many of the things between them are in the grand scheme of things. But as Makoto falls asleep between them, satisfied and content both in their love for him, and his for them, and in his own skin for the first time in his life, he tells himself that these small things are one of the many treasures Alain swore to protect.

And he’s going to do his best to protect them, too.


End file.
